Porcelain Dolls
by FenZev
Summary: She's so beautiful. The way her porcelain skin glistens in the sunlight. What wonderful shades of purple it will change under my grasp. My name is Kelder, and I am an artist. Rated M for graphic violence and death.


_**A/N: Warning: Graphic violence - rated M for a reason folks.**_

* * *

I've been here for hours in the alienage, watching them go about their daily lives. Their conditions are poor, but the light in their eyes never fades. It's fascinating to see such delight, hear the soothing laughter, smell the sweet, sweet perfume that they radiate as they walk past me.

They don't notice me though. Not until it's too late. When they are struggling in my arm, their breath warm under my hand as I stifle their screams. The adrenaline surges through my body under my flesh as their eyes widen even more at the thoughts running through their minds, wondering what I will do to them.

But they are so beautiful. Their porcelain skin shining in the sunlight like a beacon. It calls to me, begs for my touch. So flawless; an empty canvas waiting to be made into a classic art piece of blues and purples and dark crimson red.

I will do this to them. And more.

I finally see the brightest gem of them all. She appears to have just turned of the age eighteen, her breasts barely coming into full bloom. Her green eyes sparkle with glee as she chases her younger brother around the large gnarled tree. She won't realize she's in danger until it's too late. All that will remain of her is the ball she was chasing, rolling into the courtyard forgotten.

I make my move. Playing on her kindness as weakness because I know it is there. I step from out of the shadows and soften my voice. "Excuse me, but can you help me? I have these kittens I must feed and they are starving!"

She smiles wide, her white teeth reflecting the light above, and I know I have her. She follows me into the corner of the alienage where I have my empty crate and the hole in the fence to slip out of Kirkwall. I make a soft meowing sound to draw her in completely. She bends down to the crate, lifts the lid, and I quickly jump into action.

One arm around her waist, the other to cover her mouth, and I duck under the space in the fence. Oh she's a feisty one! She struggles under my arm, her legs kicking my shins as I carry her towards the Wounded Coast. I have a special place for her in my elaborate maze. Deep inside is where she belongs.

I can feel her heart pounding, her blood racing through her veins. It's exhilarating. She starts to shake, her skin growing colder, and I cannot help the smile upon my lips. Her fear excites me. Half moon wounds are indented into my flesh from her nails; the poor thing doesn't understand that this is what I enjoy most. The struggle, her need to break free. The sounds of her screams lost under the grip of my hand to her mouth.

We arrive at the cave and her beautiful wide eyes grow even wider. My hand is now moist with the tears she is shedding and I can barely stand to look at her. She's too beautiful, too perfect. I must rectify this before we continue.

I drop her to her feet and grab the back of her head, forcing her to look at me. I release my hold of her mouth, that perfect mouth with deliciously plump lips, and she doesn't scream. With my right hand I caress the left side of her face, from the edge of her eye down to her jaw, and then I lift my hand in the air. The back of my hand swings down and comes into contact with her face but she doesn't fall, as my grip of her hair keeps her in place. She screams, a heart-breaking sound that echoes within the stone walls, and I smile.

Now her cheek is red, a small bruise forming just below her eye. There's a drop of blood on her lip, now two, from where her teeth must have grazed her flesh upon impact. I run my thumb along that lip and smear blood on the same side that I just hit. Progress.

She is stunned into silence now as I drag her further into the cave, her hands holding mine that hold her soft red hair at the base of her skull. Every step we take I am more excited as she is more fearful. Further in through tunnels of pre-carved stone until we reach the end of the cavern. Here they will not hear her scream.

I throw her to the ground and push my sleeves up to my elbows. "What is your name?" I ask the elf shivering on the cold floor.

She doesn't answer immediately. Not until I stare down at her with hatred at having to wait does she respond. "It…it's Nakasha."

"Nakasha," I say it out loud. "A pretty name for a pretty girl." I can't take my eyes off her. She is sucking on her bottom lip which has become slightly swollen from my previous strike. Her bare legs are now exposed below the skirt she wears and I notice how flawless they are as well. I kneel and she inches away from me. I grab her ankle. "Don't move away from me," I warn her. "If you move, or try to run, I will hurt your family. Your father, your mother, that little boy, do you understand?"

Nakasha nods and holds still while I wrap my fingers around her ankle and apply pressure. Then I withdraw my dagger from my belt, watch her eyes widen yet again, and I press the blade to her thigh. I can hear the flesh tear under the sharp blade as I puncture it and begin a long perfect crimson line from her thigh to her ankle. She is screaming loudly but does not move. Obedient little elf. I think I love her.

I release her ankle and look up when the screaming stops. She is sobbing again; louder and slightly more hysterical_. Make her stop crying!_ the voice demands in my head and I stumble back for a moment. They had been so quiet, the voices. Why do they come now? Why? "Be quiet little one," I tell her softly. "They don't like it when you cry."

Nakasha looks me directly in the eye, a tear stuck on her lower lash. "Who?" she whispers as I watch her survey the room as if we're not alone.

I ignore her question and begin my artwork again. I grab her other ankle and create the same flawless line. This time she doesn't cry after she screams. I press my thumbs into the torn flesh and spread her warm blood onto the surrounding skin, spirals and circles of identical designs on each leg. Now she is beginning to look like a piece of art, my splendid, stunning elf.

I wipe my dagger on my pants before leaning over her outstretched legs. I gently press the blade to her temple and she squints. "Open your eyes," I command and she does so. I allow the very tip to poke a small hole right near her eye; the same eye that nearly crosses as it's watching me. I grab a fistful of hair to keep her head steady as I drag the blade down along her cheek. She doesn't move, doesn't scream, doesn't cry, until I withdraw and release her.

The tears that fall from her eyes mix with blood, causing them to streak her face with red. Oh this is so much more beautiful than I could've imagined! One side of her face with crimson lines, the other side a soft pink with purple under her eye from where I hit her. I don't mind the tears and I silence the demons within me as Nakasha's body creates her own art for me. I watch intently until she stops crying and the blood stops flowing, and then I bend my face towards her. I can smell the sweet metallic scent and I lick her face, needing to taste the liquid that keeps such a radiant being alive.

I grab her arm and push her face down upon the stone floor. She's crying again, thinks I can't hear her. _You will make her stop crying_! I pull her head up by her hair and whisper into her long pointy ear. "Nakasha, my bloody porcelain doll, it is best for both of us if you stop crying. I will not say it again." I yank her head to the side, and that's when her body stills.

I follow her gaze and see what she sees: my other works of art. They are propped up against the wall, all holding hands, feet bound together. The first one is looking at the second, the third the fourth, and so on. Number nine is lonely, has nothing but the wall to look at. "My masterpiece," I inform her. "You will keep Keya company when I am finished with you. She has been lonely for three days now."

The body below me begins to shake and I know I am running out of time. The blood doesn't flow as well when they are unconscious. I run my hands through her hair as I bring the knife to her throat. The warmth of her flesh against the cold steel of my dagger; it's poetic. I close my eyes so I can hear the final act. "Don't cry Nakasha. Don't breath. Inhale deeply and hold it."

She's obedient to the end, my once blank canvas. One slow swipe of my blade and her last sound is a muffled gurgle as the blood pools beneath her and into her mouth. I roll her over again and open the lids of her eyes, watching the life fade from within. One last tear escapes her bruised eye, dripping down her temple and onto her ear. I lick the trail it has left and then rest my head on her chest. _You'll need more_, the voice tells me. It always tells me this. _They are too beautiful. They need to be taught a lesson!_

"No!" I suddenly weep, realization washing over me at what I have done. The flesh below my cheek is still warm and I wrap my arm around her. I cry into her chest that no longer rises and falls. I always end this way. It's always too late, they are already long dead. Why won't anyone help me? Why won't they listen? I try, I try so hard, but I can not stop!

* * *

I merge within the shadows of the large tree again, my eyes on a young girl about the age of fifteen. Emerald green eyes under mahogany hair, and flawless unmarked porcelain skin. I hear an older man call for her and I pause. Lia is her name, and she has just run to the older man with her arms outstretched. He embraces her in a hug, and I am jealous. I wish those small white arms were wrapped around my neck as I drag my blade down her spine.

Yes my dear sweet beautiful Lia. You will be mine.


End file.
